


What to do When Your Cat is an Asshole

by lily_winterwood



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cat Smaug, M/M, Other, POV First Person, POV Smaug the Cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 19:44:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3822535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lily_winterwood/pseuds/lily_winterwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have a cat?” asks the face on the screen.<br/>“Yes. His name’s Smaug, he’s orange, and he’s an asshole. Aren’t you, Smaug?” Surly Food Provider glowers at me, which, of course, I am immune to. “Aren’t you a little asshole?”<br/>I don’t see why he needs to call me that. My butthole is perfectly licked, and it smells wonderful.</p><p>The AU where Smaug is Thorin's asshole cat. Written for the Bagginshield Unexpected Anniversary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What to do When Your Cat is an Asshole

**I.**

There is a face on the screen of Surly Food Provider’s laptop. Surly Food Provider does this sometimes, talking to faces on the screen. Sometimes they respond. Most of the time, they don’t. I wonder if this one will respond to me crawling onto the keyboard.

Surly Food Provider is dressed in a suit, but only from the waist up, which means I can’t shed all over his trousers like I would have otherwise. He is also wearing socks and slippers, which means I can’t claw his ankles like I would have otherwise. Surly Food Provider clearly doesn’t want to play; therefore, I must redouble my efforts.

“Hello, Mr Baggins, and thank you for doing this interview with me. It is an honour, truly. My nephews adore your books.”

“It’s quite all right, Mr Durin. I’m just sorry I couldn’t be in town to do it in person!” says the face on screen. Surly Food Provider seems to be smiling at him. He looks strange when he smiles.

“I understand, your book tour is quite demanding. How long will it be before you return to Bywater?”

“Several weeks. My tour takes me all the way to Ered Luin and back. It’s quite demanding, I think, but it will be rewarding as well, as I’ll be doing readings of the latest book to youngsters who love the adventures of Billy Underhill.”

“What inspired you to write the _Billy Underhill_ series?” Surly Food Provider is behaving in the same way he does with people he brings back for what he calls ‘coffee’. It is almost embarrassing to witness. I will yell at him to get him to stop making a fool of himself.

“Oh, I have lots of little cousins, and I would tell them stories at family events, and all of them told me that I should write down the stories and publish them so that they’d have my stories with them even when we aren’t together. Isn’t that nice of them?”

“...Yes.” Surly Food Provider is bright red. It must be working, because he’s trying to make me go away. It shall take more than your ineffectual hand flaps to get me to go away, Surly Food Provider; haven’t you realised that? I will remind you of my dominance by pushing your mug off the table.

It makes such a nice clatter against the floor. Surly Food Provider nearly falls out of his chair, and the face on the screen’s eyes widen.

“Are you alright, Mr Durin?” the face on the screen asks.

“Yes, yes.” Surly Food Provider is trying to get out of his chair without standing up and revealing that he is not wearing trousers. Serves him right. I meow in satisfaction. “It’s my cat. He knocked my coffee off the table.”

“You have a cat?” asks the face on the screen.

“Yes. His name’s Smaug, he’s orange, and he’s an asshole. Aren’t you, Smaug?” Surly Food Provider glowers at me, which, of course, I am immune to. “Aren’t you a little asshole?”

I don’t see why he needs to call me that. My butthole is perfectly licked, and it smells wonderful.

“Excuse me, Mr Baggins,” says Surly Food Provider, and he rushes out of the room before the face on the screen can properly realise that from the waist down, Surly Food Provider is wearing a set of briefs with the face of that grumpy dwarf from the moving picture box patterned on his butt.

It must be laundry day. He never wears that if he can help it.

Surly Food Provider is back with trousers on and paper towels in his hands to clean up the coffee. The mug hasn’t been broken, as Surly Food Provider had learnt that lesson long ago when he let me into his house. I am not to be trusted with breakables and hard surfaces, obviously, as he never uses the see-through cups much if he can help it, and for some reason the fragile vases and other baubles from his travels have been glued down to their shelves.

“I’m sorry, Mr Baggins,” says Surly Food Provider once he has cleaned up the mess, “but you’re going to have to excuse me a moment longer while I ask my cat to leave.”

“I’ve got time, I think,” says the face on the screen, and it looks amused.

Surly Food Provider turns to me. “Leave,” he commands.

I meow, and I obey. The conversation Surly Food Provider is having with the face on the screen has bored me, as he clearly doesn’t realise what a fool he’s going to make of himself.

* * *

**II.**

Surly Food Provider has two kittens, who are not actually his, but as they come over so frequently and have rooms in his house they might as well be. Their names are Fee and Kee. Fee is the yellow one, and Kee is the brown one. They are both boisterous little monsters, and have been boisterous little monsters since Surly Food Provider first introduced me to them.

I do not like them, but I do not hate them either. Except sometimes Kee will jump on the trampoline when I am trying to nap on it. Then I hate them with a fury.

Today Fee and Kee are here. Kee is yelling something about a book. “Bilbo Baggins is reading _Billy Underhill and the Lonely Mountain_ at the library at five today, Uncle, can we go?” he says, more boisterous than the bulldog of the boy who lives across the street when it sees other dogs walking by. It’s embarrassing.

“I don’t see why not,” says Surly Food Provider.

“Can we take Smaug?” asks Fee.

There are underwear drawers more interesting than listening to a human talking for ages, and I let them know that by darting for said underwear drawer. I believe Surly Food Provider has recently done the laundry, so they should still smell good. I will sit in this drawer. I will not part with a single sock.

Thankfully they do not follow me, or try to put the strings on me like they do with dogs. Fee and Kee once took care of the neighbour’s dog, Ned, who looks and thinks like a walking pile of fur. I don’t think there’s any signs of intelligent life in Ned. All that matters to him are shutter-shade sunglasses and dozing by the pool in his Food Provider’s backyard.

I am thus left in peace with Surly Food Provider’s underwear and a nice ray of sunlight. I must enjoy it while it lasts, as I am sure the instant Fee and Kee return from wherever they’ve dragged Surly Food Provider off to, they will find me, and they will try to play with me.

You never know what humans are capable of. Especially the grubby little ones; they grab you and yank your tail. The bigger ones know to pet you, but sometimes they do not know where to pet, and thus you must redirect their fingers to more appropriate places by the application of your claws and teeth. So far my attempts at redirection have only resulted in a lack of petting. It is most upsetting.

And sure enough, when I am just waking up from my nap I hear the voices of the little monsters. Kee finds me instantly and plucks me out of Surly Food Provider’s drawer. I try to show my displeasure, but he has grown too clever and avoids my claws.

“Uncle, Smaug got into your underwear drawer again!” Kee yells, laughing.

I hear Surly Food Provider groan. “Asshole,” he says. As if he should talk; he never keeps his clean by licking it. I have been in his bathroom. I have seen horrors beyond retelling.

* * *

**III.**

Surly Food Provider is coming home late.

Not always, of course — sometimes he comes home and then leaves again, usually only stopping to change his clothes and put food in my bowl. He never scritches me or pets me when he is like this; I have tried to demand my fair share by swatting at his ankles, but he’s not growling and glaring like he used to.

Surly Food Provider smells different sometimes when he comes home late. I can smell the scent of someone else on him from all the way across the room. I can’t even use his face as a pillow now because the scent is so strong. I wonder if Surly Food Provider is in heat again. It doesn’t happen often, so it’s an event when it does, and I’d hate to miss it.

As for me, I do not do things like that anymore, not since Surly Food Provider let me into his house. He took me once to someone he calls Dr Bard. I hate Dr Bard. Dr Bard took something out of me and now I don’t get the urge to answer the yowling of the queens like I used to.

Sometimes I don’t think it’s fair that Surly Food Provider can still mate and I can’t. But it is of no matter; the mating habits of Surly Food Provider are more amusing than fighting with other toms. He mounts other human toms like him, but it is never out of a need to dominate them. I have seen it happen enough times to realise that he is trying to treat them like queens. I am not sure what to make of it. Humans are mysterious creatures, subjects of my endless fascination.

Surly Food Provider has brought his mate home for the first time. I am behind the curtains, watching them do the silly human ritual of trying to lick each other’s mouths at the same time. I wonder where Surly Food Provider has mounted this mate before; do they do it in the alley? Or on the fence in the park? Maybe the mate has a home of its own and Surly Food Provider has been going there instead. There might be better food there.

The mate looks familiar. He is yellow-brown and he is much smaller than Surly Food Provider, and he is wearing a cardigan that I think could use a little extra fur donation.

“Is that Smaug?” the mate asks.

“That’s my asshole cat, yes,” says Surly Food Provider as he provides me food, as it is his sole purpose in life. He tells his mates that he is a writer, but that is patently untrue as I have often used his manuscripts as scratching posts. They are more effective than the one he bought me.

“My Aunt Lobelia has a cat named Bill Ferny. Two guesses as to how he got that name,” the mate says, as Surly Food Provider starts boiling water with the whistle-pot. It’s not as loud as the old one that had to be put on the stove, but I still dislike the sound.

“Hm, I can guess,” says Surly Food Provider. The whistle-pot starts making that growling noise, so I leave the room.

I return when I smell my food being set out for me. It’s wet tuna, one of my favourites. I watch Surly Food Provider and his mate drink leaf water at the kitchen counter. I can almost smell the heat between them.

“You have a nice house,” says the mate after a moment.

“Yours wasn’t so bad,” says Surly Food Provider.

“In terms of bachelor’s pads, yours is much better.”

“It’s the family house,” says Surly Food Provider. “I only got it because my sister didn’t like it; if anything else this should be her place. But she seems fine with her flat in town. All she wanted out of this house were her things and the grand piano.”

“There used to be a piano here?”

“In the living room. It’s good that it got taken; I’m sure Smaug would’ve scratched and chewed it up if it stayed.”

I do not know what a piano is. Based on what Surly Food Provider says, though, a piano must be a wonderful kind of scratching pole.

“Do you have other siblings?” asks the mate.

“A brother, Frerin. He’s in the Azanulbizar conflict zone.”

“Ooh.” A pause. “Is he alright?”

“Fine.” Surly Food Provider has that look on his face that gave him his name. I remember him when he first let me into his house. That look had been on his face every day. The mate should not have brought it up.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have pried,” the mate says. Perceptive.

I go to the Surly Food Provider and reassert my ownership by rubbing myself against his legs. He laughs and bends down to pet me.

“It’s all right,” he says to the both of us. “It’s in the past.” He straightens up and puts a hand to the mate’s shoulder as if he would hold him down and groom him. “Come on, Bilbo, I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

They leave me in the kitchen with my food. I will follow shortly and watch them do their business. It is more entertaining than the mating pictures that Surly Food Provider watches by himself on his laptop.

* * *

**IV.**

The mate has moved in. He has boxes and boxes of books and papers, which means more boxes for me to sit in. The mate just groans when he sees me in his boxes and goes to carry another one upstairs to his and Surly Food Provider’s bedroom.

I must admit, some of the other changes that the mate makes to the house are quite acceptable. There is more food for me and for the humans (but mostly me). My litter box is cleaned more regularly. And there are new flowers in the garden in the planters where the weeds had taken over before. The mate shoos me away from the flowers, though, so I have to be sneaky about it.

But there is one change that I cannot condone, and it is the fact that the mate has put a bell on my collar. He has complained several times about me sneaking up on him. But surprise attacks are a part of me. I am swiftness. I am death. My teeth are swords, my claws are spears, my tail is a hurricane.

But currently, I am perched proudly on my new hoard of freshly-laundered clothes. Surly Food Provider comes out of the bathroom with his hair wet and a towel around him, takes one look at me, and growls.

“Bilbo!” he shouts, and the mate comes running in a moment later.

“Yes, Thorin?”

“The cat’s on my laundry. Can you move him for me?”

“How did you ever manage without me?”

“I don’t know. I used to fear for my junk whenever this happened. Please, just get me a clean pair of boxers from the pile. I’ll scrounge up a shirt from somewhere else.”

One true sign of my dominance is when the Surly Food Provider is wary of approaching my hoard of his clothes. But the mate doesn’t seem to understand that. He just sighs and reaches over and grabs me by the scruff as if I am little more than a kitten. I scratch him.

“When’s the last time Thorin trimmed your claws?” the mate demands as Surly Food Provider grabs a pair of boxers from my hoard. I hiss at the mate and try to scratch him again, but he is too wily for me.

“He never stays still, so I gave up,” Surly Food Provider answers.

The mate makes a tsking noise. “You’re getting your claws trimmed.” he says. I hiss again.

There are now two changes that I cannot condone. The mate trims my claws regularly. I try to make it as difficult as I can. Unlike Surly Food Provider, he perseveres. It’s quite irritating.

* * *

**V.**

We have a dog now. His name is Beorn. He is a cross between a walking pillow and a teddy bear, though three times bigger than either a pillow or a bear. He’s like an uglier, less independent version of a cat. He also slobbers too much.

Beorn does not belong to Surly Food Provider. He is a present from Surly Food Provider and his mate to Fee and Kee for that one time of the year where they eat cake with little candles in them, and fill the house with balloons, and invite all the neighbourhood children over. I have slowly become accustomed to these large gatherings of small humans. They used to be much worse when they were still in their grabby ages, but now they’ve all learnt better, I’m sure.

Fee and Kee absolutely adore the slobberbag that is their new dog. They won’t stop petting him. In fact, all of the petting that should have been mine have gone to this new creature. I have attempted to rectify this with a firm reminder of my dominance, by leaping out of nowhere and landing in front of the dog, but that just gets me a lick from the dog in return and a thump of his tail, and laughter from the children. I suppose the effect of my show is ruined by the mate’s bell, which I still have been unsuccessful in removing. I should petition the mate, as Surly Food Provider clearly defers to the mate’s rulings in everything.

Despite being Fee and Kee’s, Beorn is to be living with Surly Food Provider and his mate,  so his food and water bowls are in the kitchen with mine and he has a big cushion in the laundry room next to mine, though I never use my bed. Fee and Kee’s mother sneezed several times when I walked past her, so clearly I must spend more time with her. Presumably she will sneeze around Beorn as well, which is probably why he is staying here.

I must remind him who truly is the king under this roof later. For now, there is more food in my bowl, and I think I smell catnip in Kee’s pocket. That must be where my stolen mouse went. Kee will feel my wrath if he does not return the pilfered item.

In addition, the boy across the street who owns the bulldog doesn’t seem to like the blond boy from next door with the little red-haired sister. I shall launch onto one of their faces and force them to crash into one another. It will be endlessly entertaining.

* * *

**VI.**

I am so proud of Surly Food Provider. He has at last a kitten of his own. It is not a kitten he produced with his mate, of course, but one they have let into their house nonetheless. I wonder if they took this new little human to Dr Bard as well.

The new human is very small and fragile. He is very quiet, choosing to watch me instead of babbling like other humans of the same age might do. He watches me instead of grabbing for me. Surly Food Provider has told him my name, but he insists on calling me “Kit-kit”. I am not a kit-kit. I am a fearsome beast of the night with razor sharp claws and knife-like teeth. I am not cuddly.

But he pets me so well, this new human. He gives me little belly rubs and underchin scritches and keeps on saying “Kit-kit, kit-kit!” over and over in his warbly little voice. It is hard to remain fearsome in the face of the new human. I let myself relax in his presence.

“Oh, would you look at that,” says the mate. “I’ve never seen Smaug be this contented around anyone.”

“He must like Frodo,” agrees Surly Food Provider.

“Well, they are both strays to some degree,” the mate muses, and I crack open one eye to glare at them, but I don’t think that had the intended effect.

“Kit-kit,” babbles Frodo, and I clamber into his lap and settle down, purring in satisfaction. He looks like he needs some warmth and some extra fur, the little delicate thing. I don’t trust the big humans to raise him properly.

I shall have to do it myself. And to begin, I shall give Frodo a proper licking.


End file.
